


Kisses

by kabrox18



Series: nasties AU [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, i know shade is labelled oc but... not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what happens when your "boss" is an asshole demon, but also basically your other half?<br/>gay shit, that's what</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> tell me if i should bump the rating pls

“Again,” he snaps, giving the other no time to rest. He won't tolerate a weak half and they need to be _perfect_ when they fuse. The angel whines and weakly puts up his hands again, panting out shallow breaths as the demon attacks again, relentless and brutal. He ducks another swing and blocks with one arm, bringing his wings out and attacking. One-two-three, block _dodge_ feint, attack there, block here. It's all so damn _fast_ and hard, Reaper never once letting up in this brutal training regiment. The demon snarls when a hit catches him in the jaw, jerking his head back and giving the other a tiny opening. Suddenly his own unforgiving attacks are turned around on him and it takes all his will to fight clean. He suddenly decides _the_ _enemy won't, so why should I_ , and lunges at the other, roaring as he unleashes hell upon the angel, who struggles to resist it all. Gabe is flipped onto his back again, eyes wide as he stares up into that black face, wisps of smoke rolling out of the hood from the exertion.

“Better, that time. But not good enough.” Those eyes meet his and he wants to fly off and escape this exhausting bullshit.

“Not good enough?  _ How _ ?!” He snaps, sitting up and almost knocking their heads together. “You have to remember, Reaper, we don't go this alone! When Shade’s around, they have both our combat prowess under their belt. Nothing could stand up to us apart but together…” He shakes his head, the Hand settling back on its haunches.

“So you're giving up,” it hissed, eyes narrowed to angry red slits.

“No. Not giving up. Taking a break.”

“You should know better than anyone here angels don't take breaks. They attack us hard and _never_ _stop_. It's been a constant war for millennia and you think it's going to stop just because we want it to? Tch, I can't believe you. Dis _gusting_ ,” the monster spits, face twisted in a sneer as it stands, turning to leave. Gabe stands, ignoring the way his body screams to stay down. Already, Reaper’s a ways away--the distance closes with three easy wingbeats.

“Someone piss in your coffee?” He asks, trotting a bit to keep with the other’s long strides.

“Two things. Don't use human phrases, and leave me the fuck alone.” Gabe does a double take--despite being a demon of all things, the monster doesn't  _ curse _ . At least, not often.

“Yeah. Well, what's got you worked up? Adrenalin rush?”

“Reyes, I'm a damn monster with no human features whatsoever besides a dick. Adrenalin doesn't have a place inside of me.”

“You didn't answer my first question.”

“It's nothing.” Gritted teeth, there. He's  _ livid _ .

“Mhm, it's nothing. And I'm still alive, kissing Jack Morrison in the rain.” The sarcasm is so deadpan it makes those sure steps stutter the slightest bit. Finally, a real reaction. Why does this undead fuck have to be so  _ stubborn _ ?

“Leave me alone,” he snaps, stepping into a hole ringed with black and purple fire. Just like that, he’s gone.

“Damn teleporty-thing,” Gabe grumbled, looking around in annoyance. He won't see the demon again for a while, so there goes  _ that _ .

\------

Reaper sits at his table, settling his hands in his lap and closing his eyes. Ten numbers run through his head and he tries very hard not to turn into a bubbling cloud of pissed off smoke. 76 comes out, serving him a plate of something he won't taste. He eats it anyway, the food settling low and hot in his gullet. He wants to tear that damn bird a new asshole but he  _ can’t. _ He doesn't rule--neither does Gabriel.  _ Shade _ rules with Felix. The two of them together. To keep his position he needs Reyes to be alive and it fills him with anger so white and fierce it makes him see red.

“Fuck him, I hate him,” he spits, black flicking out of his mouth. Blood? He reaches to touch it, finding cuts on his tongue from biting it out of self-restraint. It hurts now, stinging and sharp as his claws delicately scoop the black-mercury fluid.

“I'm gonna kill him,” he mutters, teeth glossy with his own blood as he stands, leaving the empty plate as he storms out. His little toy Soldier doesn't say much, just watching him leave.

It's not hard to find Gabriel; he usually hangs around one or two places and if he’s wandered off, it isn't hard to track the little bird down. He finds the angel sparring with some demon Reaper doesn't recognize--another strike that makes his rage flare up. If there's traits about the King’s Hand that are obvious, his rough possessiveness is one of them. He comes over, murder written over every angle and movement of his body. The demon gets one look at him and flees, only to be halted by a rock coming up, knocking the creature back and down. The Hand stalks closer and lifts the little freak up, teeth already bared as he winds up for a lecture full of swearing and most likely violence. A hand on his shoulder kills the words in his throat and he frowns, looking over to see that pretty face at his side.

“Set ‘em down. They were a shit partner compared to you anyway.”

The only way to Reaper’s heart was through his ego.

“Fine,” he huffs, tossing them down and growling to scare them off. Gabe reaches up, curling his fingers in that knotted black mist. It coils and tightens around the appendages, the monster giving a low sound of warning.

“Oh, shut up you big grump. You look ready to shred someone.” Gabe huffs, pulling the demon down by his hood, checking those eyes and that mouth before gently tugging the long tongue out. Marks weeping black are all along the edge, and he frowns, eyebrows coming down like a thunderstorm.

“You're biting your tongue again.” A dismissive, uncaring grunt is his reply; he lets go of the tongue and delivers a right-cross.

“I told you to take care of yourself and you pull this shit,” he snaps, no room for nonsense as he stares down the Hand. The two are glaring daggers--Reaper’s taller by head and shoulders but Gabe isn't small by any means.

“I don't take  _ orders _ from you,” the taller sneers, teeth bared in an attempt at intimidation. It doesn't work, and Reyes yanks him down again, faces inches apart.

“Don't give me that bullshit,” he growls, staring into those sharp eyes. There's a long moment of silence, and then a sickening grin curls up over the demon’s face.

“That was a good punch,” he mutters, low and husky. It's bait, and Gabriel narrows his eyes.

“I learned from the best,” he replies testily.

“I'm not the best-”

“I swear if you start the self-depreciating shit again, I am going to decapitate you and mount your smoky head on my damn wall.”

“You'd tolerate looking at my face on a daily basis? How kind of you.” Gabe wants to punch him again for the dry retort, but doesn't. He's supposed to be the  _ good _ part, the core ideals and values and  _ hopes _ of the original Gabriel Reyes. Instead he's here with his other half, the darkness and corruption and lingering bitterness that took over during those last years. He huffs, closing his eyes and praying he doesn't fall for doing this--then kisses the monster, sweet and soft on those oil-slick textured lips. There's a grunt of obvious surprise, then the demon reciprocates it. It's hesitant and slow--both are clearly expecting their existences to either end or suddenly turn into something much worse--but nothing happens to either. They break apart and there's a dragged out note of silence, only the crackling and snapping of nearby torches filling their ears. Reaper lets out a soft exhale, eyes fluttering slightly as he watches the sheen over his angelic half’s pretty lips.

“I hate you,” he says, breath-soft and barely audible.

“I hate you too,” Gabe mumbles, dragging the asshole into another kiss. This one’s longer and  _ hungrier _ to put it succinctly; tongues invade mouths and teeth scrape over lips as a long, low keen boils out of the Hand. Gabe pulls away to breathe and a new smell besides the scent of rotting wood fills his nostrils. It's sweet and metallic, like flowers and blood intermixed--the stink of the monster’s lust. He's only had the pleasure of smelling it once before; this feels different, somehow.

“You're disgusting,” he grumbled as those frostbite-cold lips pressed close again. The top set of Reaper’s bear-sized hands curl into the front of his coat, heaving him up and against the nearest wall, the second set slipping under his cloak and fumbling with the latches on his belt. He loosely rests his arms around those heavy shoulders, tilting his head to get deeper into that slippery warm mouth. The Hand tastes like sugar and gunpowder--not entirely unpleasant, but not his favorite flavor either. He mumbles in-between dragged out kisses, words slipping between the brief gaps in their lips.

“If I fall because of you, I'm kicking your ass.”

“Fair enough,” comes the purring reply, vibrations silky and delicious against his tongue as he rolls his hips into those clawed hands, body already reacting eagerly to the slow touches. His heavy pants drop to his knees and Reaper coos softly, parting to look down and examine the slick tightness that his other half is hidden away in. “A thong?” The monster questions, tongue flicking out as if he were tasting the air.

“Yes.” Gabe feels the flush in his cheeks and scowls, looking far grumpier than anyone in his current position had any real right to be.

“Relax, pretty boy. I've got you.”


End file.
